


Meeting Anew

by Rikaaan



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Feels, Family Fluff, First time writing in present tense, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I want a Daddy Tsuna, It's his fautt anyway, Not Beta Read, Petty Reborn, Rich Tsuna, Spanked Tsuna, We die like real men, Who told him to die for more than a decade?, cries, i forgot to add some tags, im so sorry, it's in my plot notebook for ages, joke, or more like we die like wei wuxian, so im writing it up, the ending is a happy one i swear!, this is a khr fic yall, this is a reunion fic!, we die like TYL!Tsuna, why the hell am i including mdzs here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22159858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikaaan/pseuds/Rikaaan
Summary: It has been 12 years. Is it? He doesn't know. Waking up just a few hours ago isn't helping either. Fortunately, he still remembers who he is; Tsunayoshi Sawada, the Tenth Boss of the Vongola Famiglia. He is sure that everything will make sense in a few; he's been dead for 12 years.orThe reunion in Namimori organized by Kensuke Mochida is getting closer. Many are excited to meet their classmates again after a long time, but the people in Vongola don't want to think about it. Their boss—Tsunayoshi Sawada—doesn't come back. Feeling the hopelessness and grief, they decide to go to the reunion to finally accept the fact that Tsuna is gone.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 117





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfic I posted in ff dot net, though the copy there is liek years ago. Yes. I'm supposed to be reviewing for 2 major tests tomorrow, but I wasted a few hours troubling myself over this. LOL I hope this is something good for you guys to read. Much love.

A pair of eyelids flutter open, revealing two amber—or is it honey brown?—orbs glowing in the dark expanse of the place he wakes into. Only the dark can be seen, and no speck of light appears in his vision. His arms are thoroughly weakened due to the long,  _ long _ time they are unused, so it is certainly a herculean task to move them, and being amidst the anxiety-inducing darkness is not helping him one bit, but he  _ still _ tries. He is known for his unyielding Dying Will, anyway, so even if he fails innumerable times, he will unfalteringly stand back up and continue his task until he triumphs. 

Then, his palms feel a wall that sends a shiver down his spine. It is terribly cold. Maybe it is because his state is not in the optimal condition, or it’s just really cold. Though, it is somewhat intriguing that the wall his palms are feeling is smooth. He tries to tap and is surprised to hear an audible sound. It is the sound of a finger meeting wood.

Hmm.

He once more tries to move his arms, his hands sliding against the smooth wall in front of him. He knows where he is, and this is something he even suggested, but finding the lock that is carved inside the place he is residing currently is no easy task, especially when there is no light to help and guide him.

Surely, he can use his flames to aid his current task, but it is not the most ideal thing to do, especially when he is weakened so much that even flailing his arms around already tires him so.

As his fingers feel a protrusion on a corner, his dry lips curl upwards. Finally.

Pressing the protrusion on the wall, he hears a soft  _ click, _ and the wall in front of him juts out, a line of light appearing on the corners of it. He pushes the wall, hearing a groaning sound as it slides off, revealing a sudden brightness blinding his eyes. He closes them in a hurry, as the sting that follows is not something comfortable. He sits up, agonizingly slow, his bones creaking from the years of being unused. He gives himself a few moments to familiarize himself amidst the new yet familiar environment. 

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, though it is painful at the first few tries (coughing and hacking), he still breathes, his lungs being filled with fresh oxygen. Slowly but surely, he feels his body warming up, blood once more starting to flow in his veins. Ahh, he has already forgotten how it feels like. To breathe, to feel,  _ to live. _

He slowly opens his eyes, revealing a pair of brown orbs.

Now seeing a bit of his figure, a wince escapes him as he finally takes a glimpse of a thoroughly emaciated body. Though, he can’t really see his figure; but he knows, as the clothes a few sizes larger than his current figure he is wearing is giving him the gist of his body’s condition. 

He is wearing his formal suit, the  _ very  _ best that his guardians tell him; the pinstripe one that is a total replica of Primo's. He lets out a raspy and hoarse chuckle, remembering the sudden memory that passes his mind as he sees the suit. He raises his arm to run his emaciated hand against his head, brushing past his brunet colored hair. Surprisingly, it is not tangled and is totally neat. Well, he stayed still for a few years, so…

Looking down, he notices the wilted lilies—or more like, the coffin below him. So, they never moved him, leaving him in this peaceful and undisturbed place. How likely of his guardians to do things like this. He lets out a chuckle once more. 

Now that he knows how it feels like being in a state similar to death, he admits that it is not a fun experience. It is without a doubt that it is a not-so-good decision he made during that moment, but he is left with no choice, it is either die forever or die for a few years. Albeit it's painful for him and the people he treats as precious, he chose momentary grief, as it is for them.

His senses are once again functioning like he expects them to be; hence he hears a barely audible rustle in the trees shadowing his magnificently made coffin. He makes a small smile on his lips. “Hello, Reborn.” He says, softly like it is a whisper of wind. He attempts to stand up, but he knows that it is an impossible feat; for now, anyway. He is incredibly incapacitated currently, surely, he will gain his strength until he is in his usual and optimal condition. But that is on a later date. What he needs to do now is to stand up and leave this box made of wood so that he can finally meet his precious people once more.

The new visitor shows himself, clad in a suit free of creases. He also wears a fedora on his head, a band of thick orange ribbon surrounding its crown. The man slowly walks towards the emaciated man with practiced grace, undoubtedly making the bystanders swoon if they ever witness him passing by.

“Dame-Tsuna.” Reborn greets back, tipping his fedora to cover his deep, black eyes flashing with emotion that Tsuna can’t seem to decipher. 

“I’m back,” Tsuna says.

The sun shines brightly and a wind breezes past, singing a new welcome for the now awakened Sky. The elements are once again complete and whole, promising one another to never leave again.

“Welcome back, Dame-Tsuna.” 


	2. Hayato Gokudera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this!

A chambermaid traipses along the wide and empty corridor, not any butlers, maids, nor any members clad in red on sight. They may be occupied doing other tasks or simply hiding in their rooms to use their ingenious minds, but this hallway is too empty; too void of boisterous and unrestrained presences that made this corridor something akin to a storm’s haven after it finishes its responsibilities before. The messy, yet organized mess that most people in this mansion’s wing make is something everyone is accustomed to witnessing since the occupants of this area are Storms, waiting to be sent out to exhibit their unbridled chaos and bright minds. But now, it is only a part of everyone’s faraway memory, like he is.

_ Click, clack.  _ The heels of her shoes reverberate around the corridor, making a distorted cacophony of echoing sounds that eerily flow like a piece of mangled processional music as she walks toward her destination. 

The chambermaid continues her tread along the empty corridor, stubborn to complete the sole task that Nono requests of her every single day ever since he left, hoping that this time, her visit is welcome.

Finally arriving at her destination, she stops, hesitating; her eyes nervously glances around to see whether there are other people like her within the vicinity, doing what they—just some insignificant people, and if she compares them to those people in pain, hurting for a loss they never expect, they really are—can do. To help, even the slightest bit, to put a change to everything. Maybe even making the Guardians have a bit of a smile on their tired expressions, as ever since Decimo left, everything goes black. 

She sees none. 

The mansion is now in a state similar to an old film, a palette of monochromatic hues. Sounds of warmth, happiness, home, gone; like Decimo. Now, everything just sounds distorted and scratchy, similar to an old radio with a broken antenna, attempting to do its only purpose even with a broken significant part. It just sounds like them; broken, incomplete, but still trying to function. 

She attempts to build her courage. She fails at her first try as she feels a pit on her stomach. What she must do isn't something difficult, but if she is to consider everything, especially the event that happened 12 years ago still fresh in everybody's minds, just simply knocking on the door hiding the grieving Storm away from the outside that reminds everything of him is an agonizing task. 

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. She wipes her sweaty palms on the sides of her uniform and raises her right hand. 

Even with so much hesitation, she finally knocks. 

"Signore Hayato." Her voice, with a barely concealed worry, speaks. 

<><><><><>

He leans his back on the handrails, staying in the balcony to feel the breeze and free himself away from disordered and devastating thoughts. He props his elbow on the handrails and raises the other in front of him, his right hand reaching for the cigarette between his dry lips. He arches his head to look at the infinite canvas of violet, pink, and orange. 

It is dawn and the breeze is chilling. This does him good, to be honest.

He takes a whiff of the cancerous stick he always told Decimo he won't ever touch again, but here is; finishing his 14th stick, not even an hour passes, and he's on his way to consume a whole pack. He isn't here to scold him anyway, so what's the point? 

He is the main reason Hayato tries to never use them—or use in moderation if there are instances where he just cannot control himself. But now that Decimo's gone, all the restraints Hayato put on himself are removed, the chaos he contains inside him slowly eats him; the rationality he once prides himself on is something he doesn't revel on anymore. 

The rationality, the greatness of his supposedly "genius mind" isn't something to brag about when he failed to protect Decimo. 

Complacency eats him whole. Just because he is monikered as the Vongola Decimo's Brilliant Second-Hand, it doesn't mean he is something great. He never is. 

And having the taste of being the person most admire; he does the most idiotic thing in his life. 

He becomes a conceited fool. 

He doesn't even know why or how he becomes the person he hates the most. Is it because he has become one of the most trusted people of Vongola Decimo—the most influential Mafia Boss in the whole underworld—that it validates his existence to the world, to the people who once ignored and abused him? Is he trying to say that he is someone above them, that they must show him respect, revere him? If that is so, he really has become an idiot. He never needs validation from people he doesn’t know.

He only needs a small group of people to validate his existence, that he is here, albeit being a bastard son, he still has worth. Though being a bastard son is something they don't care about, it is still him. 

Why has he forgotten about his Famiglia, that who accepts everything who he is? 

Sure, he does his responsibilities as what they expect him to, but he can still vividly remember how the title given to him changes him. 

The complacency he adopts is not something he isn't proud of. Putting himself on a pedestal just to look at people from above is not him. He is one of those said people before. He met the person he treasures the most in that level of his life, where he is known as an uncontrolled bastard son who only makes a mess on the path he crosses. And once his most precious person passes away in front of him is a hard slap to his face, waking him up from the joke he has become. 

So much for being the best right-hand man. 

He should have realized that Decimo is in danger. He should have realized that something is wrong in the whole ordeal, as once Decimo left for that meeting, he never attended the dinner he promised to eat together with them.

They wait.

It is the dinner they never think that will be the first without him. 

_ A slam on the door surprises them and a man covered in his own blood enters the hall. His body is riddled with injuries and he looks like he is on the brink of death. He gasps. "Signore Ryohei, please!" He begs and falls onto his knees, shivering from the intensity of the pain he is currently experiencing. He holds onto his bleeding abdomen and winces, but the urgency he voices out resounds in the whole room.  _

_ Silence immediately covers the hall and people rush and focus on the sudden turn of events.  _

_ "What happened?" Hayato asks as he wakes from shock, a feeling of unwelcome dread eats him. He stands up and hurriedly approaches the injured man, Ryohei uncharacteristically following silently.  _

_ "D-Decimo… H-He needs… immediate attention!" With a pallid expression on his face, he reports the devastating news.  _

The man recovered after a few weeks, but they weren’t able to recover the lost life of the person they treasure the most. All was too late, Decimo died while they were on the way to the hospital wing. 

_ They were never there to protect him.  _

He is the Storm. He is supposed to be the one in the center of chaos, to be the center of the attack, neverending, unfaltering. A Storm never hides as he is the beginning of chaos, but when his Sky left them, he does.

He then exhales the smoke and watches as it escapes from his mouth and dissipates into the air. How easily it dissipates he comments in his mind, it is similar to the life they lost. The life they took for granted, as they know that he will always be there, to catch them when they fall, to smile at them in their bad days, and to remind them that they are loved. 

_ “It’s been twelve years, Decimo.”  _ He whispers. 

Hayato then hears a muffled knock. 

He stops and contemplates, giving the unlit room a sidelong glance. He had spoken about being undisturbed for a bit, and not even a long time has passed and they are here again to make trouble. He takes another whiff and exhales. 

This is his usual routine. 

He finishes his paperwork, does his missions, accomplishes certain tasks given to him, locks himself up in his room until he’s called out to do his responsibilities once more. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

Losing someone you treasure is not something he doesn’t want to experience a third time. His mother and Decimo are enough. He never wants any more people he treasures to be gone. The pain in his heart is too much that everything goes mechanical as a way to cope. Albeit a bit eccentric, it does help him. He does everything in routine, not a second more; not a second less. 

But it seems like he’s hidden for far too long, that someone sends a person over to call him. To remove him from the hole he’s dug to escape away from the hurt and reality unendingly reminding him of the failure he has become.

Hayato sighs, puts the cigarette butt on the ashtray, and finally comes to a decision. 

He walks back to his room and fixes his messed up appearance, straightening his suit and rubs his face using the hem of his sleeve. Hopefully, this little bit of washing up makes everything better, though it is kinda unlikely if he dares to say so himself. 

The knocks resounded once more, still with the usual gentleness, not too loud nor hurried in any way that becomes probing. 

Hayato takes a deep breath as he holds the doorknob, once more contemplating whether to see his uninvited guest.

He stops. 

_ “Just open the door, Hayato. You will never know what’s behind it if you never open it.”  _

He jolts and turns around in haste, his eyes prancing around the room. A shuddering breath escapes his lips as he realizes that the voice is merely a figment of his imagination. However, the familiar voice he hasn’t heard in years urges him.

He turns the doorknob and receives his guest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I wrote Hayato's mature mind justice. Ngh. Thanks for the kudos! <3


	3. Takeshi Yamamoto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Takeshi's chapter! I'm feeling that I should add more, but everything happening right now is kinda messed up so my brain is not functioning well. I hope this is okay. XD

_ Whoosh! _

A swift yet powerful swing of a sword cuts a straw figure into two, consequently bursting, and the strands separate into thousand pieces. Not even a few seconds pass, the robed figure once more swings his sword, full of intent, yet only hitting consciously hitting air. He puts all his feelings into this last swing, expecting it to disappear, similar to a candle being blown off. His frustrations, his loneliness, his anger, his  _ grief.  _ He then shifts his position to a stiff stance, standing and unmoving; his hands clasp together onto the hilt of his sword. 

The dojo brightens from the small window near the ceiling, revealing the interior. It is almost bare, only a few rows of hangers screwed on the wall that holds wooden swords give details on the monotonous design. The dojo is wide and huge, and with only scattered straws covering the polished wooden floor, the inside looks completely void of life and stinks of loneliness. The birds outside sing and greet the rising sun, and the warm rays give an angelic glow and envelop the robed man. He looks like an ethereal immortal gazing at the world of the common people, lofty and indifferent. A great disparity to the robed man's actual personality. Yet, the figure remains completely still, his hands still gripping the hilt of his sword. His hands tremble and he finally lets out a shuddering sigh.

How many does it count? How many swings have his arm done? How many straw figures has he cut? How many wooden swords has he broken? How many enemies has he struck in his mind? How many times has it been? How many times has he thought that he should have been better? How many times has he simulated in his mind how he will kill the murderer of his boss, his friend, his family? 

He’s a natural assassin; Reborn, the greatest hitman of the world, can attest to that. The hitman was his master even and taught him innumerable things that can most certainly protect his Sky. Yet… 

How many times has it replayed in his mind? 

_ "Decimo has passed away."  _

His grip on the hilt tightens. 

<><><><><>

His hand presses on a white button on a corner near the dojo entrance. It lets out a soft beep, and the mess on the dojo disappears, a burst of indigo flames surrounds it and dissipates, subsequently revealing the polished floor, void of the mess he made.

Yamamoto hides his sword into a bag and places it beside a very familiar-looking piece of sports equipment inside the storage room; a wince escapes him as a clip of memory passes by his mind. Either it is unwanted or not, he doesn’t know—or more like, his heart can’t seem to decide which. 

_ “Hey Takeshi, I haven’t seen you playing with your bat lately… Let’s go play with the others later!” _

A sharp intake of breath and a shuddering exhale. He exits the dojo and drags himself toward his private room. The raven-haired man removes his training robes, hoping that it will also remove all these overwhelming and crushing feeling devouring him inside and out. Oh, how easily the robes are removed, yet the unbearable feelings engulfing him remain. 

He desperately tries to uphold his responsibility; to become the Rain  that settles conflict and wash everything away . Oh, how he fails terribly. The laughs he let out, the calming tranquility he sends out, and the grounding words he exclaims-

(“I’m sure us moping like this is not what Tsuna wants, everyone. I know he will tell us that we need to wake up-”    
  
“Shut up, Sword Freak. We don’t need your empty words right now.”), 

-all useless and ignored by his co-guardians. Instead of making them feel better, they feel worse—drowning themselves in work, locking themselves inside their supposed haven, and trying hard to do everything just to put their minds on other things.

And as he does, they fail to do so. 

What can he expect? Tsuna is someone that slowly breaks the walls that you built upon yourself to protect everything you have from hurt, and the moment he invades your heart and soul, he will remain there, like a home full of care, love, and warmth. The walls you have built are mere walls and are only momentary protection. But Tsuna is so much more. A Sky that accepts all, the rights and the wrongs; the goods and the bads; the triumphs and humiliations you had— _ everything _ . He’s  _ that _ accepting that even if you have done something incredibly unforgivable, he still gives you a minuscule chance to change. 

But this ever encompassing Sky is now gone.

And they feel incredibly incomplete. 

He wears another set of clothes as he finishes freshening up and walks towards the veranda of his room, sitting a seiza and grabs the cup of tea—still steaming—prepared beforehand on a small round tray, still on the usual place where he told the maids to put every single day. He views the traditional arrangement of the garden in his area, breathing in the austerity arising from it, hoping that the calmness and tranquility that he extremely needs come back to him. 

It is funny, as he should be the epitome of calmness and tranquility, he can’t even give what he direly needs. 

The silence covers the whole place, and he welcomes it.

A knock resounds in the room.

He finishes the lasts of his tea and stands up, ambling toward the door and silently opens it. He shows his usual smile, bright and open, yet it never reaches his eyes. Ever since Tsuna died, when does it ever?

“Signore Takeshi, Nono calls for breakfast.”

His smile becomes strained. “Will it be okay for me to skip?” He asks, hoping for the impossible.

The apologetic smile that replies back is his answer. 


	4. Ryohei Sasagawa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning! It's only mentioned and is never explicitly described (probably). But I'll still put the warnings here, just in case!
> 
> Warning: Mentions of suicide.
> 
> Edit: I forgot to add the things I wrote last minute. XD

The rushes of footsteps and the panic-stricken exclamations boom and surround the white halls. Multiple people clad in either bright or dark yellow and white run with briskness along with the influx of patients being sent into the tense hospital wing. Numerous cries of help reverberate and the rush of people is nauseating, obviously, not for the faint of heart—with all the screams of agony, rotten smell of iron, and the stains of crimson on a canvas of white; blood, blood, _blood_. 

Although it's a picture of a grotesque scene of life and death, the people know that they will be in good hands. The Sun is a miracle worker. A little bit of those itchy yellow flames will be their cure. Undoubtedly, Death may come to them as its presence is just a few dozen steps away—or more like, a few pints of blood loss and severe injuries away—with its grim and beckoning figure in the corner awaiting their inevitable end; yet its bony and lithe hands won't be able to grasp them, to bring them to the afterlife, as the yellow flames that quicken their recovery will bring them back to life, albeit a little exhausted from the sudden biological activity. 

Being a few steps away from death, or dying, is bound to happen, especially with their line of work. But with the help of the Suns, a little bit of injury won't be able to stop them from doing things that they ought to do. 

"Signore Ryohei! Another member's been shot, we need your help!" A maiden sporting a blood-covered robe exclaims as she pushes the gurney that is carrying the newly sent patient. 

Ryohei nods grimly and rushes along. With a loud bang of the door being forcibly open, they hurry and dash to their places. The Sun immediately lets the maiden remove the bullets from the patient's injuries, ignites his yellow flames and places his hand onto the wounds after the process is finished. As the wounds finish closing, he nods in satisfaction. 

He let the other Suns finish the covering of the wounds and dashes to another batch of patients that needs his immediate attention. 

Although the Suns are monikered as "Miracle Workers", they aren't really so. It is all just wishful thinking. Their abilities and flame capacities can only do so much, and what most people think about the "healing capacities of Sun Flames" is just a bunch of make-beliefs they are desperate to prove true. Unfortunately, facts are painful truths. What they can only do is quicken the cell reproduction in the human body so that wounds will be able to heal more quickly than what a body can normally process or make a body more prone to activity. 

But of course, everything has an equivalent exchange; the acceleration of their cell reproduction will make them either exhausted or bedridden—depending on the state of the injury. It is a profitable exchange for them if veterans are to declare to the recruits, since being able to rush back into the battlefield after momentary incapacitation is a huge help to the other members on fighting their cause. 

Those are what the Sun flames can mostly do—either it accelerates cell reproduction or gives energy to an exhausted comrade.

_They can never bring back people from the dead._

Yet it is a thought that the Sun desires to happen—to bring back their Sky. But it is an impossible feat. A hopeless thought. An unthinkable venture. 

It's all just pure desperation. 

"Signore Ryohei." The chambermaid calls, and it wakes Ryohei from his deep, deep, deep despondency. 

They are now inside Ryohei's private office; a place where the Sun can remove its shine and take a rest. A place where the Sun can cover its rays when it doesn't need to light the day. And especially the place wherein the Sun can hide from the huge space where the Sky had been when he untimely passed on. 

"Oh, it's extremely you, Shirley. Is there anything hurting?“ He asks in concern as his brows furrow. 

The chambermaid, Shirley, shakes her head, an amiable smile making its way onto her lips. She curtseys. "Fortunately, nothing hurts at the moment, Signore." She jokes, and in her delight, it gives a small smile onto the exhausted expression of the Sun. "Nono is calling the guardians for breakfast, Signore Ryohei." She adds and stops, waiting for the Sun's response. 

Ryohei nods slowly. "Ahh, is that extremely so?“ He lets out an out of character sigh as he stands up from his seat. "I'll be extremely there in a few. I just need to finish these reports." 

Shirley nods as her smile remains onto her lips, never wavering. She makes a curtsey once more. "Understood." She responds. "Nono has told me to relay that in today's breakfast, he is to talk about a certain matter." 

Ryohei mutely nods. 

As Shirley finishes her purpose, she immediately excuses herself and walks out of the office, leaving the subdued and lusterless Sun to his own despondent thoughts once more. The silence inside the room is too deafening, and Ryohei is not a person of silence. He lets out another sigh as he sinks onto his seat, letting it twirl and allowing it to make him dizzy as he looks up to the ceiling to think. 

It has been a decade since he last saw their Sky. Is it a decade? Ryohei is sure that it has been a millennium. Time goes slowly if someone precious is taken away from you, and being it so sudden and tragic makes it worse that it can be. It never gets easier, but he can sure ease the pain. Sometimes, it works. More often than not, it doesn't. There is no constant guarantee that it can assuage his grief, but locking up his intense feelings is not helpful. He had been there, and he had done that, and it was never a good practice; his covered wrists are the obvious signs. 

Those covered wrists of his are the remembrance of his idiocy, his recklessness, his ruthlessness to himself. He never forgave himself for that emotional relapse. Alleviating his morbid thoughts by hurting himself was never a good way to make himself better. Not telling anyone about these tendencies was not something he wouldn't ever do again. It never was. It made his precious people worry, so he promised to never, _ever_ do it again. Men always go true to their words! 

And this moment of weakness made him stronger. 

He is one of the oldest guardians, and he can sure try to wake the other guardians up from everything. If extreme words don't work, he will extremely beat them up until they wake up and open their eyes and realize that Tsuna never really left them. 

_"Onii-san, everyone will definitely need your brightness and energy after I leave for a while. Take care of them, will you?"_

"Sawada! I'm extremely staying true to your words, so don't worry!" He exclaims, a little bit dizzy as his seat goes to a full stop after so much twirling. The boxer then jumps out of his seat, his usual energy coming back to him.

Grieving is never easy, and Tsuna, as the ever encompassing Sky, the space he left behind is a wide spectrum of emptiness that will be a herculean task for him, and the guardians, to fill. It is a slow process, and the effect isn't immediate as the other guardians are still busy moping and being wretched. 

And although the Sun has dimmed and lost its luster, it will certainly show up once more to exhibit its blinding rays and protective warmth. A little bit of rest is what it will only take for the Sun to shine brightly once more because it destroys the misfortune that attacks the Famiglia with their own body and becomes the light that radiates to guide. The Sun surely doesn't shine every time, but if it does, the day will be the shiniest and brightest for everyone to see. 

"EXTREEEEME!!!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'll be a bit busy this week since it's midterms, so I won't be able to update for a week at least. I'll try to update quickly after the exams finish, so please wait for it! XD 
> 
> Thank you!


	5. In Namimori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay! So many things happened after I posted the previous chapter and I really can't find some spare time to write! The schedule we have to prepare for major exams got so hectic ugh. After the midterms, we had like, 2 or 3 weeks to prepare for finals. UGH.
> 
> So, okay! I really tried my best to write a longer chapter to compensate for this long overdue update, but I can only write for like 3 thousand words. I'm incredibly out of steam after writing this. Tho in hindsight, I'm satisfied. I never have written such fluff in a chapter. I guess there is fluff if you squint? There is some angst in between but I think it's not too painful, probably.
> 
> EDIT: I MISTOOK THE YEARS OFMG CHANGED THIS BIT LMFAO

Tsuna grumbles under his breath, his hand—holding his sign pen—moving familiar strokes and imprints the black ink onto the paper as his signature comes into creation. He should be glad to be breathing again, seeing the world with his uncovered eyes, feeling the breeze of the winds or the warmth of the sun, hearing the voices of his precious people, and telling them that he loves them, using his lips—not with a piece of white paper with empty promises written on it.

But, _fucking no._

He has forgotten one damning thing that he wants to be _gone_. Its existence should not be even allowed in this world! And this is the only thing he never wants to go back to, but _nooo._ After a few days of good rest in the mansion, his tutor, now his most trusted adviser, Reborn immediately sends him back into his office, showing him stacks and _more fucking stacks_ of unfinished paper- _fucking_ -works waiting for his signature to be imprinted.

Yes, in simpler terms, the bane of his existence. 

Actually, he is just kidding. Reborn never sent him to sign the documents, which is a miracle to happen; it’s even nigh impossible to hear it from Reborn’s lips to actually say _rest_. It’s never part of his dictionary. Tsuna has taken the initiative to look around the mansion and see whether there are changes. Surprisingly, there is none. Everything stayed the same. Without his notice, his feet take him to his office, where he usually does his work and meets his guardians whenever they wreak havoc. It is a room he has missed greatly yet at the same time, not, since this is the place where he signs his _paper works_. _Hiss._

Well, it is the meeting place of the sky and its elements, so which is why the room is memorable and yet frustrating at the same time. 

As another signature—and finally, the _last_ ("for now anyway" his mind unhelpfully adds)—is signed onto the document, Tsuna lets out a sigh of relief. He stands up and hurriedly leaves the suffocating office, a desperate plea obvious in his actions saying that he never wants to go back again. To never read destruction reports, put his signature to allow it to be reimbursed and paid, to allow his guardians to wreak more havoc, and cause _more_ destruction then cause _more_ paper works to sign. A fucking cycle of lather, rinse, and god fucking dammit repeat. He doesn’t even know why his feet took him there, or why he thought of signing them in the first place, but it seems like there is a tiny little bit of _something_ that is telling him that he missed the life he had in this mansion.

But wanting to never step foot in that office again to sign those documents? 

Oh, such a hopeless dream it is.

Please excuse his potty mouth, he just can’t fucking express how he loathes that things-that-come-from-trees-then-processed-into-something-he-hates-with-words-written-he-never-wants-to-read-ever-again. Has he mentioned that he hates those abominations? If not, he _abhors_ them.

As he walks with no definite destination in mind, he hears a soft sound of gun cocking just behind him, and not a moment longer, he feels a muzzle being lodged on the back of his head. The Sky lets out a strained chuckle as he turns around to face the greatest hitman, closing his eyes to conceal the slight fear in his eyes. “What were you doing in your office, Dame-Tsuna?”

“Why, hello, my most handsome and trusted adviser!” The brunet then shamelessly spouts flattery with an innocent face, blinking his brown eyes like they were saying that he never did anything wrong. 

The muzzle is now pointing onto his bare forehead and Reborn’s brow twitches in amusement, but indiscernible emotions flashed onto his dark eyes. His hold on the grip inadvertently tightens, which Tsuna notices. He lets out a soft smile, his eyes glistening with an emotion that calms Reborn, subconsciously making him lower his hand that is holding the gun. "Seems that I found myself finishing the documents, Reborn." The brunet answers in an unbelieving manner, like Tsuna himself, is in disbelief that he took the initiative to do his work even with an exhausted body. 

Reborn raises a brow in surprise. Then he smacks the head of his boss, receiving a whine from the brunet. "I know you _miss_ your work, Decimo, but you just resurrected a few days ago; and as much as I want you to do your work…" Reborn tips down his fedora to cover his eyes. "I don't want you to exhaust yourself like this." 

Tsuna looks at him like he has seen a ghost, his mouth gaping in surprise. "A-Are you implying for me to take a rest?" The brunet says in a fluster, his mind still processing the impossible he is currently experiencing. Reborn's lips once more twitch, his hand reaching for Leon. 

The brunet chuckles, hurriedly intervening to prevent his adviser from having another excuse to _maim_ him. "No need to worry, Reborn." He waves his hand, his eyes glowing with mirth. "I still can't believe how _few documents_ there are!“ He rasps as his body trembles. "You're too good at everything, Reborn!“ Then he begins walking once more, thinking of exercising his muscles that went unused for more than a decade. 

The statement makes Reborn covertly frown. It wasn't that he did good at his job, it was more like when Tsuna _died_ , the guardians went… _wrong._ They became like dolls with missing cores, doing everything in a routine, all the glows and warmth and _life_ disappeared. The chaos they usually create just… _gone._

Tsuna notices the hitman going tense, but he remains silent, his legs moving and he still has no definite destination in mind. 

It has been 12 years. 

12 years of an untimely death, a disappearance that his family never expected to come too early, that everything seemed so unreal. For him to just die like that, wherein they never got to see him one last time was too much for his guardians to take. Tsuna grimaces in his mind. _This was okay_ , he tries to console himself in his mind. _It was better for them to not witness me dying since even if nii-san tried to use his flames, it will be useless as I_ need _to die._ A consolation in vain as it only pains his heart more. 

As they arrive at an open hall, Reborn halts his steps, his dark and narrow eyes looking at the brunet. He lets out a soft sigh. “Dame-Tsuna,” he calls. 

“Hmm?” Tsuna hums as he stops as well when he notices that the clacks of the hitman’s soles stop (but, Reborn never does that, as even the littlest of noise can mean danger. It seems that _the_ Reborn deems him not a danger then. A smile lingers in Tsuna’s pale lips). 

“Rest.” 

Tsuna chuckles. “No.” He says in an impulsive moment of stubbornness.

It is kind of ironic that he uses his will in this kind of situation when it is totally unneeded. 

He once more resumes his aimless wandering, his steps slowly getting dragged and heavy. He huffs. 

His body needs more rest, and walking aimlessly like this does nothing but bad to him and his recovering body. But he can’t help it, he’s unable to sit still until he meets his guardians. It has been 12 years! How are they? Are they still doing their hobbies? How about Takeshi? Hayato? Nii-san? He has missed 12 years of their life, of course, he’s excited to meet them!

In a second, Reborn is on his side, supporting his body. _“Rest.”_

Tsuna chuckles once more. “‘m sorry…” He grumbles as he feels his strength leaving him and leans on Reborn. 

In his daze, he feels himself being carried. But before he can say more, he goes unconscious.

<><><><><>

Groggily waking up into consciousness, Tsuna cracks his eyes open in a daze, not knowing where he is currently as he has already established the fact that his bedroom doesn’t have oval windows, and much so, doesn’t have stifling seats like he is currently situated on. 

He groans.

“Dame-Tsuna.”

“Rebo— _ooorn.”_ The brunet lets out another groan as he yawns, wiping his eyes to remove the feeling of lethargy and wake himself up. “Where are we heading to?”

“Namimori.” Reborn curtly answers. 

“Oh…” Tsuna answers in a daze, obviously still not lucid enough to comprehend the answer. He allows himself a few beats for the word to sink in. 

_“What?”_

<><><><><>

When the plane lands and is finally put to a halt, Tsuna lets out a silent yawn as he strolls down the stairs from the plane, albeit still weakly, yet with purpose. Landing back on the Namimori soil always brings him back to his teenage days, wherein although there were some misgivings and inevitable chaos from being suddenly named as Vongola Decimo, overall, he can’t deny that his life had changed for the better after meeting Reborn.

He lets out a weak chuckle, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the _uncharacteristic_ kindness he is receiving from the hitman as he eyes the wheelchair prepared for him to sit on. 

“I don’t need the wheelchair, Reborn.” He says in annoyance, rolling his eyes.

Reborn shows a smirk, propping both of his hands on the chair’s handles. _“Sit.”_

Tsuna huffs, yet he sits anyway. He unconsciously lets out a sigh of relief as he sinks into the seat, not noticing his still recurring exhaustion. “Why am I still so tired?” He whines.

Reborn furtively snorts as he begins to walk, Tsuna notices nonetheless; they’ve known each other for so many years now. It will be strange if the brunet cannot recognize the mirth in the hitman’s eyes.

“You’ve been in a dead-like state for more than ten years, Dame-Tsuna.” Reborn unhelpfully retorts.

A small smile graces onto the brunet’s lips, a soft and mellow laugh surrounds the two a few moments after as Tsuna lets out his mirth. “Touche.”

Tsuna bends his neck and looks up at the blue sky, a soft hum escaping his close lips. How peaceful. So strange, but peaceful. Those years ago before this pretense came to be, faking his death and all, there wasn’t any second he could take a rest as the chaos was endless and relentless with his guardians being _them_. Documents about destruction reports, reimbursements, etc. continued on and on. After one was finished and signed, another stack came in. It was unscientific!

“Will we be going directly to the residence, Reborn? Meeting Kaa-san again will be wonderful.”

“Not for now, Tsuna. You need to recuperate. We will after a week.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I was expecting to meet them after we arrive.”

“You will, but not this fast.”

“I think they’ve waited enough, don’t you think, Reborn?”

The hitman frowns, but his steps never waver. He steadily pushes the wheelchair and walks out of the airport, escorting his boss toward the butler standing tall waiting for their arrival. His expression swiftly morphs into a delightful surprise and bows deeply the moment Reborn stops a few dozen steps away, his body taut and obvious with constrained giddiness. 

“Welcome back, Reborn-sama, Decimo!” He exclaims in happiness.

Tsuna looks at the butler in surprise, he then gives a contemplating look at the hitman. 

Reborn gives him a knowing smirk. 

“He’s one of the few people who knew your plan, Dame-Tsuna.”

“Oh. I never knew that there are people who got wind of this?” Tsuna scrutinizes as he gives the hitman a betrayed look.

“Some trusted people need to know the idiocy you did, Dame-Tsuna.”

The brunet huffs.

Looking at the interaction between the mafia boss and the hitman with a warm and nostalgic gaze, the butler chuckles. “Well, Reborn-sama—” he trails off. “—you guys should be exhausted from the flight; especially Decimo. Please go inside the car, we will send you two to the mansion.” 

<><><><><>

As Tsuna watches the scenery that he’s never seen for more than 10 years, a sudden feeling of nostalgia envelops him. He smiles softly as his eyes squint in delight. 

“Hey, stop the car!” He exclaims in enthusiasm, eager to do something, idiotic, probably.

Reborn narrows his eyes as he watches his idiotic student, but he stays quiet, not planning on indulging the idiot. 

The brunet pouts, feeling wronged. “I want to stroll a little bit, Reborn!” 

Wanting to stroll, but with an exhausted body—how typical of his idiotic student (though, it really has been a while. Reborn sure does still remember the times wherein his student keeps on complaining and whining, asking for a short rest after some _small_ exercise. But those were the times where his student was on his _Dame_ phase, so he could understand. His student had really come so far; he didn’t disappoint). 

He uses his never-wavering dying will in the most useless situations, mostly when it’s not even necessary. Everything for him becomes so much more if he’s the one doing something, even some menial tasks that don't even need so much attention. Such intensity is something Reborn is used to since he was the one who taught the brunet. Though, sometimes, he hopes that he had put a little bit of _tap_ into his teachings so that the idiot could learn fucking _restraint._ But Reborn never regretted how he taught Tsuna. Even if he became such a selfless man just for the sake of protecting his Famiglia and family, Reborn will always be proud of that idiotic dame student of his.

Reborn audibly sighs. _“No.”_

The brunet looks at him in aghast. “What?!” He narrows his eyes in annoyance as he huffs, crossing his arms childishly. “I can’t believe this.” 

The hitman continues to stare, his brow raising in amusement. 

“I’ve been cooped up inside a claustrophobia-inducing box for 12 years and you don’t want me to go out and stroll a bit?” He whines.

“You being vehement on taking a stroll is nice and all, especially when you were so different when you were 13, but your body is not fit for a long stroll, Tsuna.”

“Well, we can take a _short_ one then!”

Reborn finally relents and lets out a sigh. “Fine.”

The gleeful expression from his student that answers back completely erases the unpleasant feeling in his heart. 

<><><><><>

“It’s really been a while.” Tsuna starts as he walks near the almost empty park. He smiles at the boisterous kids by the play area and hums a gentle tune. 

Reborn follows a few steps behind, alert and prepared at everything that may happen to his student. “Well, 12 years.” The raven-haired man once more curtly adds.

Tsuna laughs amiably. “I _know,_ Reborn. No need to remind me every time, geez.”

“You’ve been so snappy these few days, what’s wrong?” He asks, sitting on a swing on the corner of the park. The brunet gazes curiously at the silent hitman. 

Reborn freezes, his always-impassive face slightly morphing into a grim expression. He stays quiet. He averts his eyes as an implication that he doesn’t want to answer. Tsuna chuckles lightly. “Well, this is new.” He comments as he starts to swing, raising both of his legs and let the swing slide. “Reborn running away from a simple question like this?” He continues. “This is really new.” 

Normally, Reborn is curt and succinct in every answer he gives. Of course, most of the time, he just uses his silence as his indirect insinuation of either affirmation or disinclination to answer. But it really is unusual for the hitman to answer like this, especially when Tsuna notices that the hitman is troubled over something.

“So…?” He further probes.

“10 years.” Reborn tersely answers, a despondent expression slowly shows itself on his face. 

Tsuna looks at the hitman blankly, not really knowing what he is talking about. After a few moments of contemplation, the words sink in and the brunet then finally realizes what the hitman means. A soft smile graces his still-pale lips. 

“You sure won’t get over this, huh.” He laughs softly. “Though, you’re right. My death got 3 more years longer than what was anticipated.” He sighs softly as he pulls himself on the swing once again, letting it sway him back and forth. 

“The medicine in the bullet might have been a bit too potent, then.” He says in an insouciant manner, gaining the hitman’s ire. “You might have died, Dame-Tsuna.”

“Well…” Tsuna trails off. “I died, Reborn. For 12 years.”

 _“Really died.”_ Reborn hisses, shadowing his eyes with his fedora.

The swing then stops, the mafia boss halting it with the soles of his shoes. He remains silent, not knowing how to answer his tutor. What his tutor said is true, though. Even though he was left in a death-like state, he could’ve died if he stayed any longer in that condition. What Shouichi speculated was at most, 10 years. Any longer than that would be dangerous. 

He didn’t know why he fell asleep for two more years, but he was sure that it wasn’t pretty for those people waiting for him to wake up. 

He tries to imagine; people surround his coffin waiting for him to wake up and smile at them, but many hours have passed, the coffin stays still. They come back the next day, only to have the same outcome. That will be totally heartbreaking. They all waited for nothing. For two more whole fucking years.

If that happens to him, he will totally be heartbroken. There is still that doubt whether they will be waking up or not, but he still waits anyway. And when the moment of that awakening comes then nothing happens, he can’t imagine how it will be after that. Expecting to see them again only to have his waiting put in vain, it will be hard to stay and wait endlessly, especially when he doesn’t know whether they will really come back or just false hope. He doesn’t know how he will react to that kind of situation. 

“But I’m alive, aren’t I? You patiently waited for two more years, Reborn. That’s pretty impressive.” 

Reborn then promptly snorts. “If it’s about dying will and determination, Dame-Tsuna, I’m second to none.”

“Well, Reborn… That’s arguable!”

<><><><><>

After tiring himself over the supposedly _short_ stroll, Tsuna finds himself waking up inside the car after Reborn shakes him awake, informing him that they have arrived at the mansion. The mafia boss dazedly looks at the hitman and nods blearily. 

They leave the car and Reborn pulls out the wheelchair once again, gesturing at the mafia boss to take a seat. 

Seeing the wheelchair, Tsuna stops mid-step and feels the corner of his lips twitching. 

“We don’t need to argue about this again, Dame-Tsuna.” Reborn restrains an urge to massage his temples. _“Sit.”_

Tsuna huffs and seats in the wheelchair.

He sends him inside and is surprised that the place is different from what he has imagined. 

“Reborn, this isn’t the mansion in Namimori,” Tsuna says, a bit taken aback.

“Correct. Namimori is still a few miles away. This place is built as your hideout, especially for times like these, when you’re incapacitated as the area is extremely guarded.”

“So, we will be staying here for how long?”

“A few weeks at most.”

“Huh.”

<><><><><>

“So, Reborn.” Tsuna starts as he wipes his mouth as he finishes eating, propping his clasped hands on the table.

Stopping his hand midway, the hitman gives a sidelong glance. He returns the spoon onto the plate and wipes his mouth. He waits for the mafia boss to continue.

“I was just wondering. But why did we directly go here? Not in Sicily?” 

“The environment here in Japan is more suitable for your recovery Dame-Tsuna.” He answers immediately and starts eating once more, not wanting to answer any more questions. 

Tsuna notices the hitman’s implications and smiles awkwardly. He lets out a sigh and calls for someone to refill his glass. He drinks the water and let it soothe his unused throat. He sighs. 

“Well then, I guess I’ll go to my room then.” 

In a blink, Reborn is by his side and pushes the wheelchair out of the dining room. 

Tsuna chuckles. “You’re so caring, Reborn. It’s scary.”

“Shut up, Dame-Tsuna.”

<><><><><>

Gaping at the heaps of documents sprawled on his office table, Tsuna does a double-take. _“Reborn.”_ He calls, his voice tinted with a pleading tone.

Resting for a week, Tsuna feels a lot better than before. Reborn has allowed him to walk around the mansion without getting situated in a wheelchair (well, technically, it’s not even a stroll as he’s _not_ even walking). 

Reborn raises a delicate brow, a smirk lingering on his lips. “I only accomplished the documents in Italy, Dame-Tsuna. No one completes the paper works _here_.” He says almost delightedly that makes Tsuna think of preparing himself for another 10 years of faked death. 

Tsuna lets out a wheeze. 

The papers he had completed before can’t compare to the _monstrosity_ before him. Well, the number of documents is _normal_ if he’s considering the chaos that his guardians do every day, but it has really been a while (like, 12 years!) that he has done this kind of thing, so he may or may not want to start signing this number of papers this soon. It really is a nice day to sleep again! 

“I didn’t see you complaining when we’re in Italy, Dame-Tsuna.” 

“T-That’s different! I did that on my own accord! I don’t want people telling me what to do! I can’t even think of how those got here! I thought this place is some kind of hideout?!”

“That’s not a reasonable excuse.” The smirk widens. “As for the paper works, I had some people get them for me.”

The brunet cannot refute to that. He still whines anyway. “I’ve been _idle_ for 12 years! You can’t let me work like this so fast!”

Reborn smirks. “Well, _I can_.” 

_“Rebooooorn!”_

“Don’t complain, Dame-Tsuna. Those aren’t for you anyways.”

The gobsmacked expression that Reborn receives from the brunet is incredibly worth it.


	6. Kyouya Hibari

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, THANK YOU FOR THE COMMENTS AND KUDOS! I am tearing up. QAQ I never expected that this will garner likes. I'll do my best!!
> 
> Second, I forgot to inform you guys about the "when" the chapters happened!
> 
> The guardians were called for breakfast <\- this happened a few weeks after Tsuna woke up. So when breakfast occurs, Tsuna and Reborn are already in Japan. But if you guys got this from reading between the lines, kudos to you! Sheesh, I'm sorry for this small bit of negligence. 
> 
> And also, I'm so sorry that I just updated now. SO many things happened while I was on break and I'm still recovering from everything. :( 
> 
> NOTE: I'll apologize in advance for the sudden changes in tenses in this chapter lmfao. I'm really not sure how I can write that part better, so I used another tense. I apologize for that. ^^;

As he reads through the documents for today, Kyouya’s deep and black eyes stare at the recent report, his lips twitching. Apparently, another no-name and over-confident Mafiosi caused a scuffle by the borders. Just another bunch of idiotic Mafiosi thinking of causing trouble to make a name. Though much effort is laudable in some kind of morbid way, it will only be in vain in  _ his _ territory since it has already been an open secret that Namimori is neutral ground. Try hard as they might in causing havoc in Namimori, his people protecting the city are the people he can trust. No more Famiglias try to wreak havoc on his grounds; they don’t want their Famiglias dead and eradicated, thank you very much.

Kyouya sighs as he massages his temples. 

He’s too old for these moronic Mafiosi that think too highly of themselves. Innumerable Famiglias had already tasted the Vongola’s wrath. Either they are directly or indirectly related, they were punished. Now, very few Famiglias try to feel the thrill of having the Vongola after their tracks. Inevitably, being a Mafioso is an occupational hazard. 

In his slight misery at having to read empty-headed and half-baked Mafiosi making their way into the underworld, a knock resounds inside his office. 

The raven-haired prefect lets out an inaudible sigh due to finally having something akin to a break from all the documents handed to him.

“Enter.” He says.

An impassive man enters the office, bowing a few moments to greet the Cloud guardian before him. "Good Morning, Signore Kyouya." The man starts, standing straight. 

Kyouya nods. "Wilfred, what is it?" He asks. 

"Nono calls." The butler curtly answers. "No absence." He then adds. 

The Cloud guardian narrows his eyes before succinctly nodding. "Hn."

Wilfred promptly leaves as his purpose is done. 

Silence once more covers the office, and Kyouya stares at the documents, feeling a bit hesitant to accomplish them. He sighs. Being the leader of CEDEF is not an easy job, more so when he still has another small organization in his homeland. Though it is incredibly gratifying when his hard work results well, especially when what he advocates is being upheld. 

But now, in the past twelve years, everything has been hectic, since there’s an absence of a very vital element: their Sky. 

Now that the Sky is absent, everything just gets unrestrained and out of control. Either the other elements lose their light and natural chaos, or they get more unbridled and unchecked. 

He knows everything, as being the leader of an Intelligence organization, known information is a given. But knowing too much is not really an advantage.

There are times that he just wants to be ignorant, unaware of some things that he doesn’t want to know. Sometimes, he just wants to be “not-knowing.” Ignorance is bliss, yes. Can he? 

Sadly, no.

But oh how he wishes much so. 

Kyouya forcibly returns his focus to the documents. However, before he can go back to his documents, another knock resounds. 

"Enter." He says once more. 

After a few moments of silence, a tall man in a black suit with a pompadour-style hair enters the office holding a new stack of documents. “Kyou-san.” He greets, bowing deeply to show his bone-deep respect to his grieving leader. 

Kyouya nods as he stares at his right-hand man, waiting for the usual reports that the man has to offer. 

Noticing the deep staring he’s receiving, Kusakabe gives the raven-haired man a strained smile. He hurriedly walks towards the prefect’s ever-organized table and places the new stack. "Here are the documents from Reborn-san, Kyou-san. There are no reports that are in need of immediate action. And lastly, as you have suspected, there are movements again from the listed Famiglias we need to keep an eye on." 

Kyouya nods as he receives the verbal reports and Tetsuya quietly proceeds toward his usual area, quick on his actions. 

The raven-haired man finds himself staring at the new stack of documents, his eyes narrowing on the orange insignia; a piercing glint flashes in his eyes. Without his notice, he hastily looks through the documents, his eyes getting chillier as he finishes a page. He immediately stands up and nears the bookshelves, reaching for an orange folder. 

A few agonizing seconds pass, and Kyouya finally looks at his right-hand man. “You said that these came from that hitman, Tetsuya?” He asks, his usual impassive demeanor shifting to a bone-chilling fury. 

Kusakabe freezes yet the corner of his lips threatens to curl up. Even if he’s on the receiving end of the Cloud’s unadulterated fury, he can’t help but display his amusement at the current situation, especially when he has something that his Cloud will totally be pleased by. 

Kyouya’s menacing glare continues to burn at Tetsuya’s standing figure.  _ “Where?”  _ He almost says in a hiss. 

Though the question is vague, Tetsuya understands his leader from the years he’s been with him. It will be unreasonable if he can’t even comprehend these one-word questions. He forms a small smile on his lips and answers a: “This came from the base in Florence and was dated a few weeks ago, Kyou-san. I just received it today. It seemed like it was intentional.”

His gaze goes back onto the new stack of documents when he walks back to his table; his piercing look sliding down towards the bottom of the page. The signatures imprinted on the documents aren’t the same he had seen for the past 12 years. This imprinted cursive signature of Vongola Decimo is not the same, yet it looks incredibly familiar. The loop on the first line of “V” is more oval-like and the swiftness of the hand-writing is what only the bosses of Vongola can do. 

After a few seconds of stifling silence, Kyouya then looks at Tetsuya in an almost unconcealed shock. His hold on the orange folder on the verge of slackening. 

Tetsuya then reveals his huge grin, finally relieved of the stress he had been troubling himself over every time he gives the prefect a negative report about a certain mafia boss. 

_ “He’s finally back, Kyou-san.” _

Recovering from his shock, Kyouya’s eyes burn in intense fury and anticipation. A predatory smirk makes its way towards his lips.

<><><><><>

Hibari Kyouya ambles, his usual bone-chilling and impassive expression plastered on his face; the clacks of the soles of his leather shoes resounding onto the empty hallways (he’s a predator, silence is his embodiment, especially when he’s onto something. But this place has now become his home—albeit incomplete, with the absence of his Sky—so even if he does something not predator-like, he’s sure that no one will really care. And besides, even if he makes a little noise, he’s certain that he will still be able to have the job done). 

He can’t say that being aware of what had happened to Tsuna is a good thing. Having the knowledge that everything was a pretense just to have a minuscule of a chance to retaliate against a powerful enemy may have been a good advantage since they will be able to plan ahead, but at the same time, it is also an agony to keep silent. He’s been tight-lipped for twelve years and the torment of having to keep the details about Tsuna hidden is no easy feat. 

But he is  _ the  _ Hibari Kyouya, such trifle is an easy task for him to accomplish. He’s never a blabbermouth anyway. Though is it really a small task? Having to keep mum about the truth about that omnivore’s life and death situation? 

From that Mare Sun guardian’s speculations, the latest that omnivore can sleep is at most 10 years. But another 2 had passed and he is still inside that coffin, unmoving. 

He doesn’t know what to do. The Sky he is waiting for didn’t wake up. How will he, a Cloud, be able to freely roam and drift around to protect the other elements if he doesn’t have the Sky to let him do so? 

That omnivore is part of his pack, and ensuring his safety is the least he can do. He came to his coffin by that 10-year mark. When Tsuna didn’t wake up, he immediately went to the Gesso’s headquarters to find the Mare Sun guardian (ever since his younger Sky left, the future has already changed, and Byakuran is already living anew and on his way to rectify his mistakes), asking for definite answers. 

Demanding for answers, what he only received was shock, horror, and confusion from that red-haired Sun guardian. Irie Shoichi was obviously panic-stricken when received the news, pure disbelief engulfs his being as he hastily typed in his device.

_ "That's impossible Kyouya-san! My calculations are correct! I considered all the possible factors when Tsuna-san and I planned everything!"  _

_ "But what happened is contradicting your calculations, herbivore."  _

_ "I'll check, I'll check! I will give you the findings immediately!"  _

_ In his haste, Shouchi never noticed the presence of a newcomer; but Kyouya did.  _

_ "Shou-chan, did you consider the Arcobaleno's Dying Will bullets?"  _

_ After hearing the albino speak of the famous bullets, Shouchi looked at him in surprise, then horror.  _

_ "So you meant-"  _

_ Byakuran looked at his Sun guardian with a grim expression on his face, nodding slowly. "The bullet sure did its purpose, but it caused more damage to Tsunayoshi-kun's interior structure, his flames to be exact." He began. "The Dying Will bullets had already made adjustments and improvements to his flames due to it being pure and untouched (and for it to be sealed too), but since the bullet that you guys used to put him in a death-like state is foreign, his flames went haywire. Because of this, his body is trying its utmost best to either fuse with or remove that said foreign substance, hence making him inactive for a longer time." _

_ "If that is true, it makes sense! Why didn't I think of this?!“ Shouchi cried.  _

_ "But there is that too," He trailed off. "Tsunayoshi-kun just wants to stay that way." _

_ And that gave him a glare full of murderous intent. "Don't you dare say that. I will fucking bite you to death."  _

_ "It's only a speculation, Kyouya-kun." Byakuran said in an almost delightful manner, a huge grin spreading on his face. "Besides, with Tsunayoshi-kun being at the top list of Mafiosi with an ever Dying Will, that conjecture is only that; no underlying meaning whatsoever."  _

_ Kyouya remained silent, yet the raging and tumultuous emotions inside him forced him to grit out some words.  _

_ "If he doesn't wake up…"  _

_ He stopped, a confused yet frustrated emotion flashing by his dark eyes. He didn't know what he could say anymore.  _

_ Byakuran chuckled. "Don't worry, Kyouya-kun. What's happening to Tsunayoshi-kun is similar to "Skullitis." It was when his body was adjusting from having the Dying Will bullet prompting his flames to wake." He clarified, trying to quell the anger of the Cloud guardian. "Though, fortunately, they differ in the time limit. Skullitis has a short one, a day at most. But in this case, it is until Tsunayoshi-kun's body gives out." The albino gave the Cloud guardian a pacifying smile. "We have 5 years. That's the most we can take." _

_ Kyouya stared at Byakuran, his lips shifting into a thin line. He then left.  _

After everything that had happened, he can't sympathize with his co-guardians. He was part of the plan that caused them grief, which caused them to be deprived too early of their ever-encompassing Sky. He can't sympathize, and much more so, he doesn't have the right. 

He doesn’t know how he will act when he knows that everything was just a pretense. Will he just watch as the other guardians cry for a deceased person when only, in fact, he’s not really dead as what they have thought? Will he just stay apathetic at their condemnations and ignore how they malign and say their hate to him? Well, he can do that. It is the least that he can do to the other guardians as being one of the people who planned this messed-up scheme. 

He just decided to not attend the funeral. All of the people in that event are all grieving for a deceased person, and he, who can't feel the same way is much better absent than trying so hard to act to suit the atmosphere. 

Even though this is why the other guardians start to show their enmity against him, it won't matter. 

Since the Cloud can act alone, then he will. 

And yes, he did. For the past 12 years. 

But now? 

A predatory expression swiftly forms into Kyouya's face. "Sawada Tsunayoshi." He says. 

_ "You will be bitten to death."  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyouya is so hard to write imo. I hope I didn't OOC waaaah. Gods, there's still Mukuro and Chrome. Ack. OTL Maybe I'll write them in one chapter. Well, they are both Mists so. *smirks*
> 
> Hope this chapter is satisfactory. Thanks for reading!


	7. Mukuro Rokudo and Chrome Dokuro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on writing separate chapters for these two mists, but I changed my mind! And I was so satisfied with the outcome of that decision. I really love this chapter. Tbh, in all the chapters I've written for this fanfic so far, I like this best! Waaah!
> 
> I'm sorry for disappearing. You guys know what's currently happening, so yea. Panic. 
> 
> I HOPE YOU GUYS WILL LIKE IT! <3

A lone figure stands under a blossoming tree, letting the shade cover him from the sun, hoping that the overwhelming feelings engulfing him disappear as the red, pink, and white petals shake and fall from the whistling wind. His forehead and left hand touch the trunk of the tree, ignoring the colorful petals that fall and sway and how the wood's surface scratches his skin. He takes a shuddering breath. His right hand unconsciously tightens its hold on the black trident he always brings with him. 

He indignantly burst out his flames, exploding in bursts and a whirlwind subsequently forms, similar to what his feelings are—messed up, in shambles, furious, desperate, and just wants to destroy everything.

The indigo flames engulf the tree in a blink, swallowing and devouring, wanting for it to simply vanish, and let his existence follow along. 

He slams the end of his trident, the sound strangely resounding around the area. 

The flames that cover the tree then vanish; the once blossoming tree of red, pink, and white is now a withering lonely piece of wood. 

“M-Mukuro-sama…” A gentle voice wakes the lone figure into reality. 

The stifling air that once covered the area from the raging abundance of the indigo flames swiftly disappears as the figure taps the end of his trident once more. But the tree remains devoid of colorful petals. He maintains his control over that, putting a bit of his attention away from the surging emotions inside his chest. He hopes it will change soon. It’s fine for him to feel empty as he had been feeling that for years ever since he was young, but these feelings of despair and yearning aren’t likely of him. He’s a mist; such feelings aren’t useful, especially when he uses his flames to create something from nothing, and nothing from something. 

A small curve makes its way on the corner of his lips, he softly chuckles. “Why, hello, Dear Chrome.” He greets. 

“Is there something wrong?” He asks, ambling towards his other half. Mukuro taps his trident once more and it disappears in a burst of mist flames. He holds the hand of the female mist. 

Chrome shakes her head, she then looks at Mukuro with bright eyes, almost imploring. “Nono has called all the guardians for breakfast, Mukuro-sama.” 

Mukuro’s brow twitches as he hears his charge speak about breakfast. “You know that I don’t join such _happy_ feasts, my dear Chrome. I’m not a person who likes such useless pleasantries.” 

The purple-haired woman tightens her hold onto the other mist’s. “But I was told that absences won’t be tolerated for today.” She further pleads. 

The older mist lets out an audible sigh. “My decision still stands, my dear.” 

Holding onto the last hope, Chrome speaks out the final and conclusive inducement: “Even if Hibari-san will be joining?” 

And that piques the interest of the older mist. _“Oh?”_ His eyes twinkle in intrigue and fascination. “How fascinating.” He comments. “Such Cloud is letting himself into a crowd he always says he hates? Interesting, interesting.” 

Footsteps are heard crunching against the grass. The raven-haired man looks back at his charge. “Let’s go after we finish cleaning ourselves up, my dear Chrome.” 

Chrome sighs in relief and nods in triumph as she follows suit. Mukuro chuckles. 

“If Kyouya Hibari will be in breakfast, certainly, something interesting is bound to happen.”

<><><><><>

The two halves of the Mist stride along the hallways—in the wing of the mansion wherein their rooms and offices reside. As they pass by the maidservants and butlers and members on their way to do their job, those said people halt their steps to show their undying respect. They bow deeply. And when the two Mists disappear as they turn to a corner, they stand and resume their routine. 

Mists are silent. Mists are deceitful. Mists are maestros of creation. Chaos is an unnecessary factor in creating beautiful masterpieces. Such brute and inelegant methods don’t match their tastes. Finesse and grace is their embodiment. No mistakes must be done, or everything will be put in vain. Such perfection is what the Mists should do. A little bit of crack in their facets will be their path towards destruction. 

But now, a crack has formed. A piece has begun missing even. Something irrevocable has happened and the Mists are now in disorder. Putting back the shattered pieces is not something so easy that Mists can do and walk like nothing devastating has happened. Even if a piece goes missing, they can create something from nothing and put something akin to a lid to it. But alas, a replica is just so; a replica. It will not be able to be the real thing.

Such as the woes of Mists. Nothing they create is real, their masterpieces are only a creation of illusion. Yet such unreal creations are the epitome of magnificence and brilliance. But then, all of their creations are momentary satisfactions. Nothing more.

“My dear Chrome,” Mukuro starts, halting his steps as he arrives in front of his office. He chuckles when the female Mist follows suit and turns her head to face him. A curious look meets his purple eyes. 

He hands his other half a plain envelope. No name of the recipient or sender is written on the envelope. “I presume this will the topic that Nono will be speaking with us.” 

Chrome looks at the envelope after she receives it, turning it around to tear it open and pull out the invitation inside. As her uncovered eye reads the first few words, her mouth opens in surprise. “This…” Her hands quiver like she is currently holding something priceless.

Mukuro chuckles. “I kept it with me when Chikusa handed it over. Fortunately, I had it hidden inside my coat. This invitation is yours.” 

<><><><><>

Chrome quickly paces toward her table, putting the invitation down. A strangled sob escapes her lips and another that it reaches to the point that she just allows herself to let loose. “Bossu,” she hiccups. 

She tries to stifle her sobs, but it is a futile attempt. 

It’s so unfair! So unfair! Unfair, unfair, UNFAIR!

Bossu sacrificed his life to protect them and keep them away from harm. She knows that. She also knows that Tsuna wants them to continue being happy and move on from his death and remember that even if he isn’t anymore physically with them, the memories he had with them continue to linger in their hearts. The warmth of his flames is still here, the protection it emits won’t ever disappear!

Her chest pangs with an unbearable ache and she lets out a pained whimper. 

But here they are, living and _living_ to not disappoint and forsake their precious Sky’s sacrifice. Yet why is it that instead of happily going on with their lives, they’re so broken and apart?!

They bury themselves in work and only show their haggard and exhausted faces when they were forced to go out of their supposed refuge and haven and asylum. But neither one of them realized that the sanctuary they built for themselves was only a mere cage to prevent them to see what Bossu left of them. 

She just can’t believe that the guardians have all become like this. 

Have they forgotten that there are still a lot of people waiting for them to leave that dark cage of despair and grief? That they care for them, worried about them?

Chrome hasn’t forgotten what her Bossu has always told her. Just this small thing, but it never left her mind, on the contrary, it’s what makes her continue. To tread this muddy waters, and venture to this dangerous and unpredictable world. To have the strength to protect everyone she loves. 

_“Chrome, venturing the world with everyone is more colorful.”_

She was never alone as her world is now more vibrant and vivid ever since Bossu reached out his hand to pull her away from the darkness she had lived within before. She met numerous people and came to love them. They slowly showed her the beauty of life. And this is the reason why she will continue living. 

But why?

Why is it that the people Tsuna cared about so much has become like this?

They take all the blame and always tell themselves that they were the ones at fault for Tsuna being killed, that he won’t come back. They always tell that, competing with each other to take all the blame! That their sin is so unforgivable that they don’t deserve happiness and warmth!

It’s unfair!

It’s so unfair!

Why are they so selfish?!

Didn’t they know that she also blamed herself?!

She has always wished that she was stronger, that she was there! To protect Bossu from that dangerous man! She has also hoped that she was able to do something to ease the burden devouring their Sky! Hoping that there was something she could do— _even a little bit!_ —so that the exhausted but unyielding figure they admired from behind could take a little bit of break from all the dangerous responsibilities he was forced upon!

But what did all of them do after Tsuna sacrificed himself for the greater good?

_They put his sacrifice in vain._

They were saved from a dangerous factor and everything was returned to normal. Yet, what happened next was nothing she had expected.

Wallowing in their griefs. Forgetting that there are still people who care for them.

They built walls to _protect_ themselves. 

It never passed their mind that it wasn’t only them who were grieving Tsuna’s death. The only thing that came into their mind was that they were some important people that they automatically gave themselves the right to take the blame. 

Chrome was astonished that most of the guardians have become so self-conceited. 

She is sure that if Tsuna has the opportunity to come back to life and sees them like this, he will definitely beat them up to oblivion with his X-Burner with a ferocious and unforgiving glare directed at them. He will then scream at them to get the fuck out of their closed walls and look _outside._ Outside their cages that they become blind from. That they have become so conceited and selfish. 

The female Mist releases a shaky breath, wiping the tears that fell with her sleeves. 

She grasps the invitation. Her eyes then blaze with unyielding determination.

If the reason why Nono calls for them is this piece of envelope in her hand, she will definitely do her best for this to work.

.

_“Hey Chrome…” Her precious Sky called her when she was about to leave the office._

_“Yes, Bossu? Is there something you need?” She asked as she turned around, looking at her boss with a concerned expression._

_Tsuna chuckled, albeit a little bit tiredly._

_“Beat up the other guardians if they go blaming themselves while I disappear for a while, yeah?”_

_Chrome was a bit confused and asked why._

_Tsuna grinned evilly. “The guardians will be a total group of dead people soon. Wake them up for me.”_

_._

She fixes her up and slips the envelope inside her inner pocket like she is protecting a treasure and that no harm must come to it. She pats her chest and leaves her office with a confident stride. 

Her steps never falter and she walks toward the forest where she met her male counterpart.

Chrome halts her steps as she arrives in front of a wilting tree. 

_"Mukuro-sama,"_ She whispers. _"This needs to stop."_ Her eyes burn with an unyielding will. 

Not a moment longer, her right-hand flashes. A trident similar to Mukuro's then materializes.

She taps her trident and her Mist flames engulf the wilting tree.

She feels her hands sweating and her face scrunches as the strain of using her flames becomes evident. 

A few long seconds later, the tree has significantly changed.

The once wilting tree that exudes an aura of death is now bursting with life. Red, pink, and white petals cover the branches and dance along with the whistling wind.

_"Bossu. I'll do my best to wake these idiots up."_

<><><><><>

The male counterpart of the Mists enters his room and when he closes the door that demarcates his room from the outside—the outside where he always wears his facade and inside his room where he removes it yet his reticent self comes forth and makes him feel so worthless to be not able to express his feelings openly—he clenches his fists. 

Such are the Mists.

He lets out a dry chuckle and wastes no time striding toward his seat. He eyes his room in a daze, trying to take in the details that characterize it, or more like, him. He fails; nothing comes into his mind and it remains empty yet it is in a mess. 

Suddenly, he lets out a wry laugh. It strangely resounds inside his room and another bitter laugh rings out.

“Such an unfair man you are, Tsunayoshi Sawada,” He asserts; his fist clenching unconsciously.

He is fine being alone. Alone with the other people who are the same as him; broken, incomplete, and different. Even if they are estranged from all what people say is normal, then abnormal they will stay. 

The world they escaped from was filled with nothing but bloodshed, destruction, and greed. They say that normal was good, yet everything was colored black with all the malevolence that engulfed the goodness that people have proudly declared. 

He was the embodiment of the evil that the goodness had created. 

Nothing from that goodness ended up being good. Mists don’t lie, and he, as an incarnation of the Maestro of Illusions, can attest that he has experienced the hell that he never knew he could escape from. A mere innocent and ignorant child as he, sent to a facility that was nothing but filth, was a lost cause. Only death was certain. It was either do what they say and die, or try escaping and die. 

Escape tried as he might, all were futile attempts. Fortunately, a minuscule of mercy appeared before him and they left him alive, albeit on the brink of death. 

Oh, how he desperately yearned for that sweet release of death. 

He never knew that it was only the beginning. He bore with the tortures they’ve forced onto him, he put up with having nothing to eat. He allowed himself to be put inside a tank with substances he didn’t know of. He accepted everything. But all was only the beginning. It only worsened after that. 

They introduced the Possession Bullet and the Paths of Hell.

The agony and anguish were endless. He writhed in the torment, he screamed everything to stop. Nothing was heard. The hell only endlessly continued.

Slowly.

Enduringly.

Excruciatingly.

He waited.

Waited for someone to see the sinister goals of the good. 

He waited for nothing. So, he made do with himself. He will save himself from this monstrosity called _good._

He waited once more. 

Agonizingly.

Furiously.

Desperately.

Just even a small chance. 

He endlessly looked. 

And, finally.

The power that these filthy _good_ people gave him became the catalyst, and they have no idea that it would cause their demise. 

He used that power to erase them off the face of the earth. Such _good_ people were unnecessary to this world. They were better off dead, lest they resume their sinister and shameful agenda. 

In the finale of his righteous revenge, he felt a strange morbid satisfaction of finally erasing such people. He was elated even. It was such a fascinating sensation. When you finally killed the people who made your life a living hell. The excitement that flowed in his veins invigorated him, and he continued his endless killing.

 _‘You’re becoming the second of them, stop this!’_ The thought passed, but he ignored and put it in the very corner of his mind. In the very corner that he knew he wouldn’t venture back.

They have escaped, but they were never free. The scars and powers they received would be their reminder. 

As they wallowed and used their meager powers to destroy the world that created them, an encompassing figure forced his way onto their cold and bleak hearts that have lost hope. The desperateness that kept them going was thrown in the wind when a determined voice of a teenager who was only introduced to that filthy world spoke for them.

Mukuro only had one word that passed his mind. 

_Fool._

But then, he realized he was the fool.

“Kufufu…” A derisive chuckle leaves his lips. “Really, how unbelievingly unfair of you, Tsunayoshi.”

His strength merely comes from his undying thirst to avenge the suffering he went through. But now that everything is over, the dark history of his past is now erased, he is just now an empty vessel. A mere projection of himself that continues to move until it dies somewhere. 

But his Sky didn’t allow that to happen.

Tsunayoshi cared for such a broken soul— _him._ And that extended to the people he came to treasure, Ken, Chikusa, and the others. Tsunayoshi painstakingly put back the pieces that made him whole. And then he met Chrome. 

He learned forgiveness and warmth.

And everything started to change.

Safety and warmth and family slowly made its way into his heart, and slowly, enduringly, he learned. 

However, Fate was such a cruel bastard.

Tsunayoshi died. And Mukuro was left alone once more. The warmth that protected him has disappeared and the looming darkness that vanished crawled back like a raging inferno. 

All is bleak and devoid of color. Cold and frost are the new normal. 

Something snapping inside of him awakens Mukuro from his mournful thoughts. A furious whirlwind of familiar Mist flames suddenly invades his body and fights back with his turbulent flames, overpowering. Being engrossed in his thoughts, he let his guard down, allowing the flames to prevail over his control and force him to concede. 

_“Mukuro-sama,”_ Chrome materializes in front of him, a furious determination blazes onto his eyes. 

Mukuro chuckles as his eyes gleam in a stubborn competitive fit. “Chrome, that was unusual of you to fight over dominant control.”

Then the purple-haired woman smiles innocently. “You’re getting weaker, Mukuro-sama.” She challenges.

Understanding the underlying meaning of the other’s words make Mukuro halt on his tracks.

He then lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes glinting with an indecipherable emotion. “You’re right, Chrome. Having such feelings is not me at all.”

A strained smile. _“Not me at all.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I just find Mists so contradictory. They always pursue perfection since facades aren’t easy especially when they are to deceive. But for me, even though they strive for perfection to create their illusions, the illusions themselves are the vivid manifestation of their honesty. Even if they want to feel something else, the illusions they create won’t be able to deceive the creator since their feelings are the very foundation on how to mold their creations. But then again, Mists always say that feelings are unnecessary to create illusions. It’s so contradictory that even I’m having so much trouble in this chapter lol. But in the end, I like this chapter the most. 
> 
> So, uhh. Basing it from my timeline, we still have two more chapters left before the reunion starts. Yeah. XD


	8. Lambo Bovino

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have no excuses. Procrastination is a sin. LOLOL. I was supposed to post this a few days ago since that was the time our break started. LMFAO. Gods. I can't. 
> 
> And I can't believe I forgot about Lambo!!! TTATT
> 
> To compensate, I really did my best to write this chapter. I hope you guys like it! 
> 
> Oh, and based on my outline, I think the next chapter is the start of the reunion! Waaah!
> 
> Okay, no, wait. I checked it again. Not yet. LOL. One more chapter before the reunion. LMAO OKAY SORRY THAT WAS MY FAULT.
> 
> That aside, I hope you guys like this chapter! 
> 
> Fun Fact: "Tsuna-nii" was written 20 times in this chapter. LMFAO

When the afternoon bell rings, signifying the end of today’s classes, Lambo sighs tiredly as he slouches and lies his head sideways on the cold table. His emerald green eyes watch listlessly as his other classmates hastily fix their things and excitedly run out of the classroom. Not a moment later when the room devoids of students except him, he turns his head and looks outside. He closes his eyes and takes another deep breath as a gust of wind enters the classroom, groaning as he thinks of the prospect of going home. 

He sighs.

Starting from the day he was sent back to Namimori, this has become the norm. He wakes up in the morning, goes to school, takes classes, goes home, then sends a report via holographic meeting. Lambo sure is having fun from all this, but he misses Bakadera and the others who are staying in Italy, despite the Storm Guardian’s incessant scolding and nagging. 

Remembering the other guardians, Lambo’s eyes involuntary burn and redden. He lets out a sniffle.

He may as well go home if he’s going to be like this again. 

Another sigh slips past his lips, a little bit shaky, however.

<><><><><>

“Maman, I’m home!” Lambo exclaims as he removes his outdoor shoes and fixes them at the shoe rack. 

“Ah, Lambo! Welcome back!” Nana exclaims back, fixing her hair in front of a mirror as she hums. She cranes her neck to look at her charge with a huge smile on her face. Watching as Lambo nears her, she goes back to face the mirror and lightly dabs her face with a sponge. “Lambo,” She starts, putting the final touches on her light make-up. 

“Yes, Maman?”

“I’ll be going for a bit to visit my friend. The food is already prepared. You guys can heat them later if you want.”

Lambo nods slowly, thinking about his other two friends. “Oh, okay!”

“Oh, I-pin and Fuuta just told me through the phone that they’ll be a little late in going home since they have some tasks in school.”

“Yeah! Fuuta told me too, Maman!” Lambo exclaims as he lightly throws his bag onto the couch and runs to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Nana then giggles, “I should be going now. I don’t want to be late.” She walks towards the entrance, wears her shoes, and goes to the door. “I’ll be going now, Lambo!”

“Okay!” He cranes his neck to face the entrance and grins widely, “Be careful, Maman!”

The door slowly closes and a stifling silence permeates the house. 

<><><><><>

As Lambo finishes drinking, he drags himself toward the sink, placing the glass there. He turns the faucet on and watches how the glass slowly fills up. But when the water rises in the middle, he turns the faucet off. 

How will he see that glass he wonders. He already had seen a lot of things despite his young age. Betrayal, brutality, ruthlessness, death, too much for him who is supposed to be only having fun with friends, and receiving the love that his loved ones give him, but a kid like him who was born in the underworld and automatically constrained with its rules doesn’t have the privilege. The _right_ to have a childhood. 

Morality is a sin. Pity is a sin. Consideration is a sin. Innocence is a sin. Being a child is a sin. Everything is a sin if it means being weak. Children in this world tend to mature early, lest they lost their lives. That's the only thing they can do, adapt to the adults' rules so that their meager life can continue. Retaining their innocence means death. So he had no choice but to learn the know-how to stay alive in this unforgiving and ruthless world.

He’s the _exemplar_ of the underworld’s immoral upbringing. The Bovino Famiglia sends him, a fucking _five-year-old_ , to assassinate _the_ Reborn. Do their heads have a screw loose? Not really; they are simply telling the child to go die since having him continue living won't bring them any benefit. His life wasn't worth anything. 

But what can a five-year-old do? Mere children aren’t simply capable of killing the greatest hitman in the world just because they were sent by their Famiglia. Even if he was given a bunch of life-saving items if things go south, that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a mere child. And besides, who can say with utmost confidence that even with such life-saving devices, a child can leave alive? Battling the greatest hitman is not even something adults can accomplish, what can they expect from a child?

Though in hindsight, even with a lot of misgivings, him being sent to Namimori to kill the greatest hitman of the world is the kindest act the Bovino Famiglia has done to him. Sending him to his death? None of that mattered since he was prepared for it, but what he didn’t expect was meeting Tsuna; his _Tsuna-nii._

Their first meeting was incredibly eventful with all that chaos and screaming and _explosions_ but he can dare say with utter confidence that meeting Tsuna-nii was the most unforgettable moment of his whole life. 

He, a castaway child of the Bovino Famiglia, with no other meaning to his life but to defeat the greatest hitman, gained another purpose. To live, to protect his family. 

Yet, merely a handful of years had passed, another excruciating sorrow courses through his heart. 

_Tsuna-nii abandoned us._

This was the unforgiving thought that emerged in his mind when he heard of Tsuna’s passing. 

Lambo always says to himself that Tsuna-nii isn't the type of person that will leave without warnings. The youth knows that his Tsuna-nii will come back, but so many years have passed, he never returned. Not even a shadow of him was seen. Who will he blame? Will he blame Tsuna-nii for breaking his promise? Or will he blame himself for not being old and strong enough to protect him? Actually, he can only blame the ruthless world they were sent into. Why is it that those who were actually making a change were ruthlessly killed, unforgivingly sent to their deaths? 

The lime-eyed youth blankly looks at the glass, his thoughts indiscernible. “Tsuna-nii,” he mutters brokenly. “How should I see this glass, half-full, or half-empty?” He then presses his lips to suppress the grief that suddenly engulfs him, his eyes blurring from the accumulating tears. He sniffles. “How should I think of your passing, 12 years already passed, or 12 years only passed?”

Lambo lets go of the glass and crouches as he covers his crying face with his hands. “Tsuna-nii,” he cries painfully, doing everything he can to not just break down.

* * *

_“Being a Guardian means not showing any weakness, Ahoushi.” Bakadera scolds him as he gives him a displeased look. His face then morphs into a complicated expression as the Storm Guardian watches his crestfallen charge. He sighs, crouching in front the child._

_"But that doesn't mean anything between family. Know that Decimo and the others will be always with you."_

_"I-Including you?"_

_Bakadera snorts as he rolls his eyes, a warm gaze falls toward the child. A comforting hand rubs Lambo's messy hair._

_"That's a given, Ahoushi."_

_"But what if you guys aren't here?"_

_“Idiot. We're just one call away."_

* * *

Lambo continues to cry as he recalls that warm memory. "But how the hell can I call Tsuna-nii this time, Baka-dera?" A painful sob escapes his lips. _"How?"_

“Hmm??? Calling me is pretty easy, you know,” A voice suddenly intrudes, jolting Lambo awake from his despondent musings. “Either, just knock on my room’s door, dial my number—and from what Reborn told me, it’s still unchanged—or simply call me Tsuna-nii.” The voice adds, a grin evident from its tone.

The child freezes, thinking that the voice is simply a figment of his imagination, desperate to have his Tsuna-nii before him. What can he do? He really misses his older brother, the only person who accepted him who was thrown away by his famiglia by sending him off to accomplish an impossible mission. The only person who took care of him and gave another family to rely on. His older brother, Tsuna-nii. 

“Oh? Why are you just staying still there, Lambo? Won’t you hug your Tsuna-nii? You see, Tsuna-nii missed Lambo greatly, so he wants a hug.” The voice urges on, but Lambo is still in disbelief. Tears accumulate in his lids, and his eyes redden, his heart tightening, at the likeliness of him turning around only to see an empty space. 

“What are you doing, Dame-Tsuna? Just enter the damn room so I can brew an espresso.” The ever-indifferent voice of the greatest hitman curses suddenly. 

“Lambo is frozen!” The voice of his Tsuna-nii answers back.

“That’s because you surprised the child, Dame-Tsuna. How else will he react after hearing the voice of his brother that was dead for more than a decade?”

“You have a point there, but is it that really surprising?”

A cocking of a pistol is then heard. “Okay, idiotic question of mine, disregard it, Reborn!” Tsuna-nii’s panicked voice hastily amends. 

A sigh follows and he hears Reborn’s voice once more, this time, exasperated. “Fix this mess.” Then a long silence follows.

“Hey, Lambo.” Tsuna-nii’s voice starts, a little bit sheepish. “Hey, are you still there? Earth to Lambo?”

Slowly, Lambo turns around, his eyes tightly closed, still not believing this sudden turn of events. He then hears Tsuna-nii laughs in amusement. 

Footsteps approach him slowly and the child feels a frighteningly familiar presence before him. “Hey,” the ever-encompassing presence the child feels makes his eyes tear up more, and his arms itch to hug the person in front of him tightly, never to let go. “Lambo, open your eyes, you dummy.” Tsuna-nii’s voice laughs, then he feels a warm hand grasping his. “I’m here.”

Lambo opens his eyes and his tears finally fall, _“Tsuna-nii…”_

And he does embrace his older brother, tightly. Not planning on letting go for a long, long time. 


	9. Before the Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello! I'm really sorry for the late update!!! It's really difficult for me to find time to update waaah!!! I know I've been saying that I'll try to update often but my updates are sporadic, I'm really sorry about this. ^^;
> 
> I'm really thankful for the kudos and comments! TTATT Your comments really encouraged me. Some of our readers' questions will be answered here. 
> 
> EDIT: Made a few changes, added a little bit of something at the end of this chapter. Not too significant for you guys to notice, but I just wanted to add it. XD
> 
> EDIT #2: OMG, THANK YOU, Dman21!! I didn't notice the mistake! LOLOL I'M STILL LAUGHING ABOUT THE WHEELCHAIR I CANT-

“Reborn,” Tsuna pleads softly, looking at his former tutor with imploring eyes as he fidgets his sore body, embracing the three small bodies that are using him as a pillow. The ever-impeccable suit-wearing man who opened the door to his former student’s room to wake him up for breakfast freezes after meeting such a scene. Reborn mutely looks at the small bundle of _kids_ with a blank stare for a short while then to his student. Then, he shuts the door close once more, ignoring his student’s heartwarming suffering. 

“Ahh-, _wait!”_ He exclaims in a whisper, his body jerking a bit to instinctively grasp the leaving man’s figure. Unfortunately, the three slumbering teenagers are jostled. To Tsuna’s relief, not one of them wakes up. The brunet still hides a wince from guilt, however.

Then, he feels the hands holding onto his clothes tightening and hears them sniffling, and his heart crashes. _‘Damn, I’m never good with crying children…’_ Though, after a few seconds, he senses that there’s something wrong with his words. _‘Oh,’_ he realizes. _‘They’re not children anymore.’_ He amends, albeit in a grieving manner. 

_‘I wasn’t able to watch them grow up…’_

Tsuna tightens his hold back, embracing his younger siblings with as much as he can.

“I missed you guys,” he tearfully whispers, looking at the three awakening teenagers. 

_“‘orning,”_ Lambo murmurs as he rubs his sleepiness away, still in a daze. As the Lightning guardian slowly retrieves his attention, the other two follow. 

“Oh, Lambo, I-Pin,” Fuuta yawns. “Good morning.” He greets first.

“‘Ello, Lambo, Fuuta,” I-Pin follows as she yawns. 

Tsuna laughs softly. “Good morning, guys.” 

Then an abrupt silence comes after. Tsuna immediately feels three not-so-small figures climbing back up the bed and jumping towards him.

 **_“TSUNA-NII!!!”_ **

“Ah! Hey- _don’t!_ You guys aren’t that light anymo- _ah!”_

* * *

Meeting three red-eyed teenagers and a very energetic brunet in the dining room, Reborn blankly stares, silently sipping the espresso he brewed. The three kids sniff and weakly take a seat, routinely eating the breakfast prepared on the table.

Tsuna stops in surprise, looking at the appetizing food still steaming hot. “Huh, who cooked?”

Reborn imperceptibly rolls his eyes, gently putting down his cup. “Just eat, Dame-Tsuna. The food’s getting cold.” 

The brunet softly huffs and unceremoniously takes a sit, which Reborn obviously didn’t like as he clicks his tongue. He slowly reaches for his gun.

“Ah, no! I’ll sit properly!” Tsuna hastily squeaks, immediately fixing his sitting posture.

Reborn looks at his idiot student with an admonishing gaze. Said idiot student laughs in apprehension, reaching for his plate, and starts to eat.

“Just because you’re still recovering doesn’t mean you’re exempted from basic courtesies and etiquettes, Dame-Tsuna.” He says blankly, taking another sip from his espresso. Tsuna freezes for a moment and starts to eat, a gloomy expression on his face after being admonished by his former tutor. He nods slowly and takes a bite.

His expression brightens considerably from his former gloom as the food finally enters his mouth, his tongue melting from the delicious food he has been so long deprived of. He lets out a soft groan, “ _Fuck,_ this is tasty.” Tsuna praises, swallowing a mouthful, and continues to spoon another one.

Reborn, body tense, waits. But after hearing his former student’s comment, his body indiscernibly sags in relief. If one has really keen eyes, one can possibly notice it, but Tsuna is too busy eating to care.

The three kids who are still in a daze and unbelieving that their Tsuna-nii is back, continue to eat silently, their eyes sliding back to the brunet from time to time. Both adults notice but decide to ignore it. Let the kids have their look at their Tsuna-nii. It has been over a decade since they last saw his face. 

“Oh,” Tsuna suddenly starts, making the three kids jump in surprise and look at him in alarm. The brunet chuckles softly. “Don’t you guys have school today?” 

“No! I don’t want to go!” Lambo outbursts as he hastily jumps off the chair and runs to Tsuna, his hand gripping the brunet’s arm. “I want to play with you, Tsuna!” 

“Me too!” Fuuta follows with the same energy, I-Pin vigorously nodding along to show her agreement.

Tsuna frowns as he contemplates. “You guys will miss classes,” he tries to reason out, but Lambo, Fuuta, and I-Pin quickly try to persuade their older brother.

“No! We can miss one day of school! There’s nothing to do since exams just finished!”

“Yeah!” 

“Teacher told us that we will be checking our papers! That’s too much work!”

Tsuna snorts. “Okay, fine.”

“Yay!”

Destroying the exuberant atmosphere between the four, Reborn warns the brunet. “Don’t you dare go out of the house, Dame-Tsuna. I won’t be carrying your tired ass if you pass out.”

“Boo! Reborn, don’t be such a kill-joy!”

Reborn cocks his gun.

“Okay! Okay kids, let’s go to my room! How have you guys been? I missed so many things!”

* * *

Reborn left them to their own devices and stayed downstairs while Tsuna and the three excited kids happily went on and on about what happened to them this past decade. 

“Tsuna-nii! This Lambo-san always got high scores on my test!”

“Me and I-Pin joined the student council, Tsuna-nii!”

Tsuna laughs happily while listening and pats the kids’ heads, feeling incredibly proud of them. “I’m really proud of you guys.” He smiles sadly. “Though, Tsuna-nii is really sorry that I haven’t been with you as you guys grow up.” He falters. 

Fuuta reaches out for his arm and furiously shakes his head. “It’s not your fault, Tsuna-nii. I know you did it to protect us, so we did our bestest so when you come back, we will tell you many things we’ve done!”

“Un!”

Tsuna feels himself tearing up. “Aww! This Tsuna-nii is incredibly grateful to have you guys!” He exclaims and jumps toward the three kids and embraces them tightly. Lambo, Fuuta, and I-Pin squeal loudly in happiness, laughing and screaming as they hug their Tsuna-nii back.

* * *

During lunchtime, Reborn goes back to the room, disturbing the four having fun inside. “It’s lunch,” he curtly says, looking at them deeply. “Go change, we will be eating out.”

“Huh? Where will we be eating?” Tsuna asks as he helps the kids stand up and motions them to get changed, which they do hesitatingly.

“Somewhere,” he answers vaguely, making the brunet twitch his lips in slight irritation. But then, he suddenly notices something strange and is astonished as his eyes meet his former tutor’s clothes. “You’re wearing _not-suit._ ” He breathes, in utter disbelief. 

Reborn, currently donning casual clothes smirks, nodding mutely. “It’s a _casual_ lunch, Dame-Tsuna.”

Tsuna continues to stare at his former tutor. “Handsome guy,” he bitterly hisses a few seconds later, leaving the hitman standing by the door.

* * *

Unfortunately, since Reborn is still being a bit of an overprotective ass, the five of them are now inside a car, which Tsuna is upset about since he’s expecting to be walking to the place where they will be eating lunch. 

Reborn, seeing that the brunet is still sulking, sighs softly. “Don’t be childish, Dame-Tsuna. You’re still recuperating.”

“It’s not like I’ll pass out after doing light exercise,” Tsuna whines.

“You did, you fool.” Reborn rebukes.

“What?” Tsuna asks innocently, blinking his eyes.

“Prepare to sit on a wheelchair the whole lunch,” Reborn says almost in a hum.

“What. Is this you being petty, Reborn?! Are you being petty right now?!” Tsuna almost shrieks as he watches the vehicle stop and Reborn leaves.

* * *

Tsuna, grumbly sitting on a wheelchair, makes faces as Reborn pushes. Reborn smacks his former student’s head. “Stop that. It’s disgraceful.” 

“Ow!” The brunet dramatically exclaims. “What a way to treat a recuperating person, sheesh!” Not a moment later, he feels the muzzle of a gun against his back, resulting in Tsuna straightening his spine. He laughs nervously. “Yes, this sick person will shut up now.”

“Tsuna-nii, you’re an idiot,” Lambo suddenly butts in, covering his laugh with his hand as he watches the pair making a show of themselves. 

“Pfft, Reborn’s too dull. He’s just silent. If no one talks to him, he won’t talk.” Tsuna starts again, obviously taking back the words he said before, though those words weren’t a promise. Besides, if he actually becomes quiet, people will _worry,_ and he doesn’t want that to happen. Not again, if he can help it. He snickers as he motions the three kids to get closer to him and dramatically whispers some words. “Repeat after me,” He starts, and he sees the three kids nod seriously. 

“Reborn is a tsunde- _argh!”_

The brunet dramatically blabs only to exclaim in horror as he feels the wheelchair falling forward. If not for him holding onto the armrests on time and stabilizing the wheelchair, surely, his face would have met the ground by now. “Oh my gods, Reborn! Why are you being so petty?! Don’t be a kill-joy!”

Reborn jolts the wheelchair another time. 

_“Ah! Don’t, Reborn! You’re making me dizzy!”_

The three kids watch on breathlessly and guffaws by the end.

* * *

Nana anxiously twirls the straw inside her iced tea, her eyes sliding back and forth from her glass and to the entrance, still void of people she wants to see. She tries to take a sip of her drink, and her eyes go back to the door. She must have been looking so restless that even her friends are starting to worry. “Nana,” one of her friends starts, making her avert her anxious gaze back to the table.

“Ah, that was rude of me.” She responds sheepishly, but her hand continues to spin the straw. She has never been this nervous and worried ever since she learned about her _son_ , her precious son is a mafia-boss to be and will be in danger _every-_ fucking-moment, with him needing protection every single _day_.

“Is there something wrong, Nana?” Her friend asks worriedly, and Nana laughs softly, albeit a little bit strained to her liking. “Fortunately, there’s nothing wrong.” She answers back slowly and she unconsciously looks back again to the entrance, though this time, a handsome man in casual wear enters. She sees his grim and taut expression, and suddenly, she feels _despair_. 

_Oh no, no no no no no, Tsuna? Where is her son?!_

Nana freezes and her hold onto her drink tightens, she feels a pit on her stomach, not seeing the person she’s longing to see. _My son, where is my son?_ She pales and her lips tremble in utter anguish. “Nana? Oh my gosh! Nana! Why are you crying?!” Her friend exclaims in horror as she hurriedly hands the brunette a tissue and helps her wipe off her tears. Nana shakes her head, her figure gradually shaking. “I’m sorry, I just…” and she _sobs._

“Nana,” a tall and handsome-looking man approaches their table, his mouth pressed in a thin line. The people at the table gasp in surprise, but their fascination is only momentary for they still have a friend to comfort. Nana continues to cry and her friends try to console her, but she looks so _devastated._

 _“Nana,”_ the tall man once more calls this time with a little bit of a defeated tone. 

The brunet hiccups and mutely looks back at the hitman. _“Reborn,”_ she hiccups, her face flushed and cheeks stained with tears. Reborn gives her a fond gaze and crouches in front of the crying brunette. “Nana, stop the tears.” He said, a minuscule smile forming onto his lips. He wipes off the falling tears with the pad of his thumb, he softly chuckles. “Don’t jump to conclusions, I merely surveyed the place first.” He starts and Nana gasps, tears cascading down more fiercely and the brunette cries and _cries_.

She slams a fist to the hitman’s shoulder, feeling extremely wronged and hurt. Reborn lets the mother of his former student hit him, though he can’t deny that he understands what the crying brunette feels right now. That _utter_ fool of a student of his just goes and plans his death which is not actually death—but rendered him close to death nonetheless, which is downright _devastating,_ with the people suddenly hearing of his _death_ —and leaving them all alone, for 12 years, grieving, for a temporary death. 

And the most miserable and hurtful fact is that only a few knew that he would live. Those few would wait until forever, _endlessly hoping_ that Tsuna would come back and open his eyes, look at them, speak with them, smile at them, _embrace_ them with his ever encompassing warmth. Those in the know would be engulfed with hope, waning as another day passes with no news regarding his awakening until none is left and only despair to accompany them. 

Always hoping, only to be devastated when Tsuna remains asleep. 

Even though Tsuna is awake, _living,_ it doesn’t remove the past where he was absent. And Reborn will definitely make sure that Tsuna will recompense, even if it’s the last thing he will do. 

Reborn holds Nana’s shoulder, slightly tightening it to attempt as a comfort. Nana laughs breathlessly, a hiccup soon follows. “Reborn—Tsuna, _Tsuna_ —” Nana hitches her breath in nervous anticipation and she squirms. 

“May we please know what’s happening, sir?” One of her friends intervenes, worriedly looking at their friend crying as if someone _died._

The hitman nods and he answers curtly. “A reunion.”

The brunette’s friends look at him in disbelief. “It doesn’t seem like it, sir.”

Reborn smirks, “Well, the person Nana is meeting again just came back from the dead.”

“What?”

As if further answering their question, a tired-sounding voice calls for the man. _“Reborn,”_ totally resigned and whiny and _accusing_ voices out. And the people turn their necks to gaze at the newcomer. 

Tsuna, who is still situated in a wheelchair and letting Fuuta push, looks at him with a complicated expression. _“You made Kaa-san cry.”_ He says darkly.

Reborn immediately stands and sighs. “And it’s your fault.” He snaps, his face slowly morphing into a displeased expression. 

“Tsuna, Tsuna, _Tsuna…_ Son, you’re—you’re _back…”_ Nana gasps and she runs toward him, kneeling in front and she cups his still-emaciated face and she _cries._

“Kaa-san…” And the newly awakened man tears up as he finally sees his mom after a long time, the guilt engulfing his existence. He made her cry, it was all his fault.

Then he feels a hand meeting his face. A resounding slap. From his mother. 

“Ow, I guess I deserved that.”

“Of course, you do. You deserve it, Dame-Tsuna.”

“Ow…”

* * *

After that eventful and memorable interlude, they finally have their lunch, Nana’s friends still with them. Nana gave them the gist to let them have an idea of why and what happened, changing a few details here and there to avoid mentioning anything close to the _Cosa Nostra_. After learning what happened—

 _“In the middle of a dangerous hike, my son got caught in an accident, rendering him in a coma for_ years. _”_

 _“I thought he died, but after hearing from Reborn, I was told that my son was sent abroad for better recovery. And after a decade, I finally heard of him again.”_ —

They looked stricken with horror and shifted to relief after a short while. “It’s a huge relief that he will be fine now.” One of them sighs audibly as she looks at Tsuna, albeit still a little bit worried at his emaciated figure. 

Nana looks extremely delighted and relieved and she nods at her friend. “Yes, _truly._ ” She breathes, her gaze staying where his son is.

* * *

“Dame-Tsuna,” Reborn calls as they return home and situate themselves inside the living room, with Tsuna not-so-elegantly-sitting-as-a-mafia-boss-should be on the sofa watching the television. 

“Hmm? What is it, Reborn?” Tsuna asks distractedly.

The hitman gives Tsuna an envelope, and the brunet looks at it curiously. “What’s this?” He asks, flipping the envelope, and realizes that it was an invitation to a reunion. “Where will this be held?” He asks as he tries to look for a paper-knife. Reborn’s lips twitch in amusement and pride as even though his former student was in a state of death for more than a decade, the upbringing he gave him remained. 

He reaches for the envelope and opens it, handing the letter over to his former student. “In Namimori Middle.” he succinctly answers. 

“Huh… That’s a terribly _ordinary_ venue.” He says dully, genuinely unamused.

Reborn lets out a snort. And the brunet continues as he reads the content of the letter. “Uhh, and the programme is… _mediocre_ at best.” 

“The people who organized it don't have much budget.” 

“What, who are you and how did you survive battling _the_ Reborn?" Tsuna says dully. "Why are you even trying to defend this event? At most they could have had a different venue for the reunion? There are better options than to have the _school_ as a venue. They know that classes are still on-going, right? What is with this discourteousness?”

The hitman stares at his former student, genuinely amused. “The reunion is scheduled on a weekend,” he comments.

Tsuna rolls his eyes. “As if that’s a good reason, Reborn. You know I’m not mistaken. Even if they schedule the reunion on a weekend, that doesn’t remove the fact that they are using the school for a non-academic related event. And they aren’t even students.” He continuously complains.

“And…?”

“I’m still going, however. I need to see what the fun that was written here will be.” Then he remembers. “Am I the only one who received an invitation?”

“No, the others received one too.”

“ _Perfect._ I’ll be seeing them there, then. Though, it would better if the location is somewhere more _appropriate_.”

“Why not sponsor the reunion?”

“But isn’t the reunion a few days away? Won’t the preparations be done over again?”

“You aren’t short on money for that matter.”

“You have a point. Hand me your phone, Reborn.”

The hitman raises his brow, but he gives the phone, however. 

“I’m going as your caretaker.” He informs.

“...What the hell, Reborn?”

“You will be going on a wheelchair still.” He adds.

“God damn it, Reborn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been wanting to add some gayness in the wearing not-suit part, but this is a gen fic soooo. LOL 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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